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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380861">Tuaca</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost'>gildedfrost</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Top Shelf [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous Relationships, Ficlet, Hallucinations, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 08:34:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>360</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26380861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gildedfrost/pseuds/gildedfrost</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The umbrella shields Connor from the worst of the weather. Keeping his head down, he strides along the empty sidewalk, one hand crumpling the worn note in his pocket. The ink is already half-faded.</p>
<p>Was it worth it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Connor/Gavin Reed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Top Shelf [9]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1905412</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tuaca</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Day 9: Voices in My Head</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Connor.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>Cool rain cascades to the ground in a torrent, streams flowing along the curb of the streets, and cars drive slowly and carefully even in the heart of the city. The night is warm despite it, but Connor doesn’t perceive anything past the rain.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>The river is nice this time of year.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>The umbrella shields him from the worst of the weather. Keeping his head down, he strides along the empty sidewalk, one hand crumpling the worn note in his pocket. The ink is already half-faded.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Was it worth it?</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>There isn’t anyone waiting at home for him. Not anymore. No one who will be worried at his late return. Nobody who will call to check in on him.</p>
<p>It’s lonely.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>You did that to yourself.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>The voice is too close. His hand darts up, as if swatting away a mosquito, but of course, it meets only air. He stops and turns in place, verifying that he is alone, and returns the paper to his pocket, now with raindrops soaking through it.</p>
<p>Regret sinks deeply into him. He knows too well what he did wrong and the words he should have said to make things right. But he has limited patience, and that never bodes well with a partner who shares that trait. A fault that’s gotten him in more sticky situations than he can count.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>You’ll never reconcile.</em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>Weeks have passed since then. Sometimes it feels like he has company—not Gavin, but the sort that his mind conjures for him, given the right amount of stress—while other times, the loneliness eats away at him.</p>
<p>He passes by a bakery and smells vanilla and caramel, conjuring images of Gavin holding him tightly, the two of them wrapped in a blanket while the rest of the world is put on pause. Rainy days, snowy days, warm summer nights where everything was perfect.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <em>Perfection was never in the cards. </em>
  </p>
</blockquote><p> </p>
<p>“Maybe not,” Connor mutters, glancing back at the bakery. They’ll be closing soon.</p>
<p>He can’t fill the void with remnants of good memories. He doesn’t try. Instead, he trudges along, as aimless as when he walked out his front door.</p>
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